


Tension

by problemsloth



Category: The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells
Genre: Massage, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other, Post-Book 5: Network Effect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 15:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30124710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problemsloth/pseuds/problemsloth
Summary: Murderbot's shoulders are tense. ART suggests a massage. It goes over about as well as you'd expect.
Relationships: Asshole Research Transport/Murderbot (Murderbot Diaries)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a crappy day. I'd spent most of it on the surface of this stupid planet, herding a bunch of stupid human colonists away from an unstable factory that they refused to believe was in imminent danger of exploding. One of them got so upset at being restrained from running back into danger that he tried to bite me. (Yes, good idea, _bite_ the walking death machine who's trying to save your life. He's lucky I only knocked him unconscious, instead of what I actually wanted to do, which was to break all his teeth out.)

Not a single one of them even thanked me when the factory _did_ explode. Not that I expected thanks. But would it be so much to ask for a simple, _"_ _Wow, y_ _ou were right, Murderbot, it really was going to explode"_?

Now, finally, I was back aboard ART. It was a rest period for the humans, so the ship was quiet and the lights dim. I sat in my quarters watching a new horror serial, ART watching alongside me in my feed. But even the serial was annoying me. It was full of idiotic human characters who kept insisting on wandering alone into forests full of dangerous fauna, with predictable results. I'd had to deal with enough suicidally incompetent humans in real life today; I didn't want them in my fiction too.

(ART didn't appear to be enjoying the serial either. It had barely even been able to watch the latest death scene, which had featured the microbiologist getting ripped clean in half by some mysterious force.)

When it became clear that yet another shockingly idiotic scientist was about set off after her disappeared colleagues without even bringing a single weapon with her, I stopped the playback.

 _Ugh, this show,_ I said into the sudden silence of my private channel with ART.

 _These characters are NOT following proper planetary survey safety procedures,_ it agreed anxiously.

 _Want to watch something else?_ I asked.

 _Please,_ ART said.

I browsed my media library, trying to find something lighter. Preferably something related to space exploration, to keep ART happy.

As I debated whether we should try out _Chrysalis Universe_ or just rewatch _Timestream Defenders Orion_ , I could feel ART inspecting me.

 _Your shoulders are tense_ , it observed.

Thanks, Detective ART. _No shit they're tense. What do you expect after I spent the whole cycle herding the colony's most irritating humans around?_

_You should remedy that. How do you typically address excess muscle tension?_

_I don't. I'm a SecUnit. Muscle tension doesn't affect me the way it affects humans._

ART regarded me skeptically. _Are you positive that it doesn't affect you at all?_ it asked. _Or are you just programmed not to be bothered by it?_

_Who cares?_

_You should,_ ART said in its irritatingly superior way. _The fact that your muscles can become excessively tense at all suggests that it may impact your performance, even if it doesn't cause you pain._

I ignored this and turned my attention back to choosing a new serial, hoping that ART would take the hint and stop bothering me about this.

Of course, ART, being ART, refused to drop the subject. _Have you ever tried to determin_ _e_ _whether muscle tension affects your performance?_

I gave up on the media search out of exasperation. _No_ _,_ _because –_ _and_ _I cannot stress this enough - I do not care._

 _I fail to see why you refuse to even entertain the idea,_ it pressed. _Muscle tension is not difficult to treat. All it requires is a simple massage._

It took me several seconds to process the sheer idiocy of this idea. _Are you seriously suggesting that I should get a fucking massage?_

 _Yes. Why not?_ ART asked sanctimoniously.

_"Why not?" Do I really need to spell this out for you? You know I don't like being touched._

_You don’t like being touched by humans_ , ART corrected.

I wasn’t sure where this line of thought was going, but I didn’t think I liked it. _Or augmented humans_ , I added.

 _Or augmented humans_ , ART acknowledged.

_Or bots._

_Or human-form bots_ , ART said.

Yeah, I definitely didn’t like where this was going. I waited to see if ART would clarify. It didn’t.

 _You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you,_ I said.

_I can’t imagine what you mean._

Fine, I took the bait. (This was a huge mistake, in retrospect.) _Why did you specify "human-form" bots, you asshole?_

 _I thought it would be obvious,_ ART said with the air of one explaining something to a child. _I’m a bot, aren't I?_

The hairs on my organic parts suddenly stood on end, and a strange rush of adrenaline flooded my system.

Heedless of my unease, ART continued, _And you and I touch each other all the time. You're touching me right now._

Abruptly, I pushed myself up from my chair and stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around me. _Congratulations, you just made all of our interactions 10,000% more awkward._

 _You’re being immature_ , ART said. If it had eyes, it would be rolling them. _There’s nothing strange about touching me. Anyone onboard me can hardly avoid my sensor arrays._

 _Can we please stop talking about touching now_ , I said.

ART gave the bot equivalent of a deep sigh. _My_ point _was that interacting with my instruments and drones does not give you discomfort._ ( _It didn’t until now!_ I interjected. ART ignored me.) _And I have drones in Medical that are equipped to provide massage. You are welcome to make use of them._

Right, because this situation wasn't already mortifying enough. _You realize you just offered to give me a massage, right?_

 _You act as if this is outlandish,_ ART said. _It is not. I would offer this course of treatment to any member of my crew._

I wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

 _You don’t have to decide right now_ , ART said, with an infuriating air of patience. _The drones are available to you at any time._

I still stood motionless in the middle of the room.

 _You might as well sit down, you know,_ it added. _There are no special sensors in that seat. I can feel you just as well when you’re standing there as when you’re sitting down._

Reluctantly, I sat down, trying not to think about how, technically, I was putting my butt on part of ART. (I guess ART must be used to being sat on. Gross. I’ve never been so grateful not to be a transport bot before.)

After an excruciatingly long pause, ART offered, _Would you like to watch Sanctuary Moon?_

 _Yes, please,_ I responded. ART started up episode 153 for us. It was the beginning of a story arc that we both liked, the one with the junior solicitor and the mech pilots. ART settled in my feed with me to watch.

* * *

We had been watching Sanctuary Moon for two hours and 53 minutes, and the organic parts of my shoulders were still tense.

I hadn't even noticed the tension before ART brought it up, but now I couldn't stop thinking about it. (Thanks a lot, ART.) I tried manipulating my non-organic tissue to force the muscles there to relax, but it only made the sensation stranger. To top it all off, I could tell that ART had noticed what I was trying to do and could barely contain its amusement.

Goddammit.

Once episode 155 was done, I stopped the media and took a deep breath. I could feel ART waiting for me to say something.

Was I really going to do this?

Apparently I was. (I know, I'm as surprised as you are.)

 _Just tell me where the fucking massage drone is already,_ I said.

ART radiated smug self-satisfaction. _Bay 2 of the medical suite. Everything is already set up for you there._

Of course it was. I made myself get up before I could change my mind, but hesitated at the door of my quarters.

 _Everyone else is still asleep, and based on my prior observations of their sleep patterns, I estimate a 92.4% chance that they will remain so for at least the next hour,_ ART said, apparently thinking that I was worried about being seen and questioned by someone else on my way to Medical. Which was, in fact, true, but the fact that ART would just assume that made me feel a weird mixture of irritation and some other emotion that I couldn't pin down.

Whatever. I pushed that thought aside and made my way to Bay 2. If I was going to humiliate myself, better it be now with only ART to see me. (Wait, what about that was better, exactly? This whole situation was seriously messing with my judgment.)

As I stepped into Medical Bay 2, ART smoothly closed the door behind me. Most of the medical instruments were folded neatly away. A padded chair stood in the middle of the room, configured to allow someone to lean forward in it, with a support for the chest rather than the back. An innocuous-looking drone hovered nearby. I eyed it warily.

 _Please take a seat and lean forward in the chair,_ ART said through the drone.

The familiar environs of the medical suite helped a little in pretending that this was a completely normal medical procedure. I sat down.

(In media, humans typically remove their clothing for massages. But I had no intention of removing my shirt, and ART didn't ask me to. Maybe it knew what my reaction would have been if it had tried and decided it wasn't worth the property damage.)

In front of me, the drone unfolded its arms, revealing a variety of different attachments. Some resembled typical drone grasping appendages, though modified with a softer-looking grip. Others ended with hard, bulbous extensions or rolling cylinders.

ART seemed to have decided that the best way to approach this was to talk me through the procedure as if I was a skittish patient, because it said, _As you can see, the drone is equipped with several different attachments to provide different levels and qualities of pressure. Would you like me to explain the functionality of each one?_

 _Please don't,_ I groaned.

ART appeared to take this in stride. The drone beeped in acknowledgment and moved to hover behind me. (I watched it suspiciously through one of my own drones.) Once it was in position, ART said through it, _I have modified this drone's procedure to account for your inorganic components. It will begin near the base of your neck and work its way outward to the shoulders. If you become uncomfortable at any time, just let me know and I will have the drone stop._

 _I'm already uncomfortable, thanks,_ I said.

The drone hovered behind me, waiting. Apparently sarcasm wasn't going to cut it. _Look, just do it,_ I said finally.

But even though I'd chosen to go through with this, I still wanted a distraction from having to think about (ugh) touching. So as the drone reached towards me, I pulled up _Sanctuary Moon_ again and foregrounded it, shoving my tactile inputs as far into the background as I could.

Even so, when the drone laid its appendages on my back, it was hard not to pay attention.

It was... awkward. But, as much as I hated to admit it, ART was right about one thing: being touched by its drone wasn't nearly as unpleasant as being touched by a human. The drone's appendages felt reassuringly inorganic, and its mechanically precise movements were reminiscent of typical repair drones. If I didn't think too hard about it, maybe I could pretend this was just a normal repair job.

Meanwhile in the episode, _Sanctuary Moon_ 's mech pilot was attempting to destroy the evidence of corporate sabotage, only to be caught in the act by the junior solicitor. As I watched the chase sequence that ensued, I wondered idly how whoever had made this massage equipment would feel if they knew it would one day be used by a murderbot. Probably they'd be almost as surprised as I was.

When the chase scene ended with the unexpected intrusion of a corporate combat bot, I unthinkingly checked in on my tactile inputs. The drone was pressing rhythmically into the part of my left shoulder where my organic tissue is the thickest. As it smoothed the tension out and away, I could feel my performance reliability increase by 0.5%.

That was when I finally noticed the incredible amount of attention ART was paying to me and nearly jumped out of my skin.

I've mentioned this before, but ART is, computationally speaking, huge. Being at the center of its attention is like being stared down by a sun. I dropped my media playback and frantically scanned through my logs to see what I'd missed.

The logs showed that, over the past few minutes, more and more of ART's attention had become focused on this room, until now the vast majority of its prodigious processing power was concentrated on just three things:

  1. Me
  2. The drone, and
  3. The points of contact between us



_ART. What the hell,_ I managed.

ART backed off, but only slightly. It almost seemed... embarrassed? (That couldn't possibly be right. ART is never embarrassed about anything. But that's the only way I could contextualize it.) _The feedback I'm getting from you is... complex,_ it said. _Processing data from organic components is very resource-intensive for me._

 _Right_ , I said awkwardly.

We metaphorically stared at each other. The drone slowed, hesitant, then stopped. I could feel uncertainty radiating from ART. (Unfortunately, I was too busy freaking out myself to appreciate seeing ART thrown for a loop for once.)

93 seconds passed.

Well. It looked like if this whole weird thing was going to continue, I would have to be the one to re-initiate it.

 _...I didn't ask you to stop,_ I forced myself to say. (Yes, this _is_ probably the most excruciatingly embarrassing thing I've ever said in my life, thanks for asking.)

The drone tentatively extended its appendages towards me again, pressing softly into my right shoulder. When I didn't object, it continued more confidently, pushing and kneading with smooth, deep strokes. It worked deftly, easing the tension away, skimming lightly over my inorganic parts and working the organic parts until the muscles felt relaxed and smooth.

And all the while, ART studied me as if I was the most fascinating thing in the universe.

After an objective six minutes and a subjective eternity, the drone beeped and pulled away from me.

 _The massage is complete_ , ART said, tone strangely neutral.

The drone folded its appendages away and returned to its dock. ART was still in my feed, silent.

I put my face in my hands.

 _What the hell are we doing, ART?_ I asked.

 _I don't know either,_ it admitted.

An awkward silence stretched between us.

 _Did you dislike the massage?_ ART asked finally.

 _I don't know,_ I said.

More time passed.

 _Your shoulders are less tense,_ ART said.

 _Yes,_ I said.

I could hear the life support machinery whirring gently in the distance.

 _Would you like me to leave you alone for a time?_ ART asked.

 _...I think so, yeah,_ I said.

ART pinged acknowledgment. But as it pulled away from my feed, it hesitated.

 _...Are you upset with me?_ it asked.

I didn't want to have to talk about this, but I also didn't want ART to think I was mad at it. _No,_ I replied. _It was just... a lot._

 _Acknowledged,_ ART replied, seeming relieved. It withdrew from my feed, though I could still feel its presence at the edge of my awareness, as I always did when I was on board. There was something... oddly comforting about that.

When I returned to the privacy of my quarters, I couldn't help rolling my shoulders experimentally. They felt refreshed and limber, as if they'd been freshly regrown.

I didn't know what to do with that information, so instead I pulled the episode I'd been watching back up and sank into it gratefully. I knew I'd have to face this... whatever-it-was... with ART eventually, but for right now, all I wanted to think about was _Sanctuary Moon_. I'd had more than enough emotions for one night already.


	2. Coda

_Coda: The next morning..._

When I left my quarters that morning to fetch a replacement part for one of my drones from Engineering, ART pinged me tentatively. When I pinged back, I could feel its relief through the feed.

In Engineering, Seth was reviewing some data on a display. "Ah, SecUnit, good morning," he said cheerfully as I walked in.

Being greeted like a person still always takes me by surprise. (People don't typically wish their equipment a good day, after all.) I gave sort of a weird grunt in response. Smooth, Murderbot.

Seth didn't seem bothered by my response. "Oh, right, by the way," he said, "were _you_ the one in Medical last night?"

I froze. My face started to feel hot for some reason. "Why," I said.

"Martyn said he thought he heard someone in there," Seth said. "I just wanted to check in and make sure everything was okay."

I noticed ART collecting data on the capillaries in my cheeks. _Stop that, you freak,_ I told it in a private channel.

It stopped collecting the data, but responded, tone tinged with amusement, _Your autonomic responses are fascinating, though._

That reply didn't help with whatever the heck was going on with my face.

"I'm fine," I told Seth, and turned and left the room without even picking up the parts I'd come in there for.

As I left, ART addressed Seth through the feed. _I helped SecUnit with some minor maintenance last night. Nothing to be worried about._

I removed myself from the channel before I could hear Seth's response. I didn't want to know what it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That night in Seth and Martyn's quarters:  
>   
> Seth: I think we're going to have to give Peri the Talk.  
> Martyn: Don't be silly, we gave it the Talk years ago.  
> Seth: Yes, but that was before SecUnit came aboard. I don't think we even mentioned anything about constructs. We might have to come up with a new Talk.  
> Martyn: ...huh. You have a point there.  
> Perihelion: _Stop talking about me as if I can't hear you._


End file.
